


Molten

by Flightless_Bird



Category: Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types, Hannibal Lecter Tetralogy - Thomas Harris
Genre: Arguing, First Kiss, Flirting, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Misunderstandings, Pre-Red Dragon, Pre-book red dragon, Sexual Tension, Unresolved, Will is Tired, and very smitten, hannibal psychoanalyzes will, they are very in love lol, unfortunately, will and Hannibal work together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-16
Updated: 2018-08-16
Packaged: 2019-06-28 09:04:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15704079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flightless_Bird/pseuds/Flightless_Bird
Summary: “Now I want to know long?” Hannibal asked softly, reaching for Will’s face as though to cup his cheek again. He paused an inch from touching and Will sucked in a wanting breath.“How long?” he repeated dumbly.“How long have you been in love with me?”





	Molten

**Author's Note:**

> Confession: I have never watched the tv series for this. I’ve read the books and watched the movies. I’ve read fics for these two and I adore them, so I decided screw it, I’m writing it. Appearances and personalities are completely based off the books. But it was very much inspired by the tv series. 
> 
> Warning for language, but not much.
> 
> Archive will not let me put italics because it glitches so.... no italics anymore. XD 
> 
> I hope you like it, and if you did, let me know what you thought :3 Thanks for reading

Hannibal Lecter had eyes like a reptile’s, everyone said. Cold, distant, calculating. A gaze like a magnet, latching onto the most minute of details and practically deducing a lifetime behind it.

Sitting across from him, at a tired desk, Will couldn’t see it. He’d been up for most of the night, poring over his most recent case file. It was one of those wily ones, no visible motive or even a clear weapon. So naturally, he’d gone to the doctor for help.

Though at this point in the night, he doubted there was much work being done at all on his end. He’d spent the last ten minutes thinking about Lecter’s eyes, for God’s sake.

But they aren’t, he thought tiredly, reptilian.

They were molten. Maroon, flitting over the pages with practiced ease and fixing on every detail. They reminded Will of wine, or dark autumn, or embers… They…

They were on him now.

Lecter cocked his head curiously. “Will?”

Flustered and caught in the act, Will nearly fell off his chair. “What?” he stammered out, slapping his hand down on a photo as it threatened to fall.

Lecter blinked, as though surprised by the sudden clumsiness in the agent. “Are you feeling all right?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.” Will sat up straighter in his chair, shoving his hair off his forehead and straightening his sleeves. He didn’t realize that he’d only succeeded in making his sleeves even more uneven and his hair stuck up at odd angles in the front.

He thought the ghost of a smile flickered across Lecter’s features. “You know I wouldn’t think less of you if you decided to postpone this until tomorrow.”

Will puffed out a sigh. “I know,” he muttered, dragging a hand over his face. “I don’t need to leave, really, I just… It’s been a long day. But I can’t stop.” He leaned back in his chair and gave Lecter a wry half-smile. “You get it, right?”

“Perhaps more than most would, yes.” Recappinghis pen, Lecter straightened up. A strand of hair had fallen loose from his combed-back look, dark against his skin.

Will had the sudden, inexplicable urge to brush it back into place. He shook it off.

“Still,” Lecter went on, making Will glance up again, “working yourself to exhaustion is hardly going to help you right now.” A smile touched his lips, lending a warmth to those ember eyes. “Why don't you turn in for the night, leave the file here? We can continue in the morning.”

“Really, Doctor, I'm okay. I'm tired but I think I can keep going, just until I figure out—”

“Will.”

“What?”

“You do realize that pen is uncapped, right?”

Freezing, Will took the pen he'd been fidgeting with and—yes, it was uncapped, and yes, he probably had ink all over his forehead now. Coughing sheepishly into his hand, he tossed the pen onto the desk. “Maybe it is kinda late for me.”

“It's late for anyone with a workload like this.” Lecter gave the desktop a tap with two fingers, a gesture of finality. “Sleep will do you more good than forcing yourself to stay awake studying.” A pause, then, “why don't you stay in one of the guest rooms? Save you the drive and spare the other drivers from a very exhausted FBI agent on the road.”

Will chuckled at that, but shook his head. “No, I couldn't. I don't want to intrude.”

“Ah, it would hardly be intrusive. I invited you.”

“I dunno…”

“It'd be wrong of me as a psychiatrist and dear friend to allow you to drive home when you're in this state.”

Will felt warmth flutter in his chest. Dear friend. “If you insist…” he trailed off jokingly, trying to mask how he couldn't make eye contact anymore.

Hannib—er, Dr. Lecter seemed pleased. “There’s a guest room right down the hall. We’ll get you settled in.”

 

XxxxxxxxX

 

When Will came across Lecter’s library, he was not at all surprised. Of course the doctor would own, and had probably read, every single book in his own private library. Still, the collection was vast and intriguing. Will veered off-course from the hall leading to his room and wandered into the bookshelves. It wasn't as big as he'd thought, the towering shelves reaching up and crowding the space. It was painted in warm tones though and gave the room a cozy sort of feeling. A bit at odds with its owner.

Will made his way to one of the firstshelves and squinted at the titles. A lot of them were cookbooks in this section. Will vaguely remembered someone mentioning Lecter’s talent in cooking, but he hadn’t been able to test it himself. Maybe he’d be able to tomorrow….?

“Would you like to borrow one?”

Will started a bit at the voice from behind, and glanced over his shoulder. Hanni— Dr. Lecter—stood at the doorway, a curious tilt to his head. He’d shed his jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. Will’s gaze skated over his form, before he looked away again. “Just looking,” he answered, coughing a little into his hand. “You own an obscene amount of cookbooks.”

“I do an obscene amount of cooking.”

“Really? Does that mean I can expect breakfast made for me in the morning?”

“I’m afraid you won’t find my tastes very appealing.”

“Are you one of those people that cook really weird shit?” It was asked playfully, with a half-smile thrown over Will’s shoulder.

Lecter chuckled. “You could say that.”

Turning back to the looming shelves, Will tipped his head back to see the titles near the very top. “So you like cooking,” he said thoughtfully, almost to himself.

“You make it sound like such a novel idea.”

“It’s just weird, to see you—” a brief floundering for words— “like this, when everyone else acts like you’re not even human.”

There was a shift of carpet behind him, perhaps Lecter drifting closer. “Humanityis one of many prices to pay when one reaches higher ways of thinking.”

Will snorted. “Is humbleness another?”

“You would know,” Lecter flashed back lightly. “You’re the one person I’ve met that appears to be my equal.”

His voice held a soft note somewhere in it that made Will bite down a smile. Hoping for a change of subject, he pointed at a thick hardcover and tapped the spine with a fingertip. “This one is in Italian,” he noted. “How many languages do y—?”

Lecter’s hand was brushing past his to pull the book off the shelf. The motion brought him incredibly close, breaching Will’s personal space. The doctor had been known to do things like that, as though he enjoyed jarring Will. And he certainly had jarred him; Will’s muscles were tensed and warmth from Lecter’s chest flooded across his back.

“I know quite a few, a result of boredom and lack of reading materials,” Lecter explained as he pulled the book from its place. His breath ghosted over the back of Will’s neck, and Will took his next breath and held it.

Christ, get a hold of yourself. “Oh,” he managed. “That’s—” Lecter moved to show him the first page of the cookbook, “—interesting,” Will finished lamely, wilting as his muscles unwound with the space between them. Somewhere in the back of his mind, a voice warned him that this reaction was very not normal around people, but he chose to ignore that. Instead, he forced himself to focus on the page and the pictures of food.

Lecter smiled slightly. “Beautiful, aren't they?”

His passion leaked into his words, and Will felt like part of him was melting. He nodded shortly.

Taking the silence as a close to the conversation, Lecter placed the book back in its shelf. “Well, enough of that,” he said pleasantly. “I won’t keep you from sleep any longer. It’s obvious you need it.” The last statement came with a stern glance.

“Yes, I know,” Will groaned, rubbing his fingers over tired, sore eyes. “I need to sleep more and I have pen ink all over me. Thanks for pointing it out so well.”

Chuckling, Lecter made to leave the room, taking all of its warmth with him. “Rest will do you good. You can continue adding more ink to your face in the morning.”

“Thanks,” Will deadpanned. But the sarcasm didn’t show in his expression, as he stared after Lecter’s retreating form until he was out of sight.

 

 

XxxxxxxxX

 

Morning brought with it the smell of cooking and clean sheets. Will shifted in bed, nosing into the pillow and breathing in again. He wondered what softener Lecter used. He wondered if Lecter’s sheets held the same scent.

That never happened, I never thought that. Growling at his own weakness, he shoved himself up and out of bed for a shower. He definitely did not try to smell Lecter’s towels while he was in there.

When he found his way to the kitchen a short time later, Lecter was beginning to plate…whatever that incredible-looking breakfast was. He looked up as Will entered the room, a greeting on his lips. His gaze seemed to linger on Will’s damp hair and the unbuttoned V at the neck of his shirt. But the moment passed and Will’s heart rate returned to normal.

“This is all for me?” Will asked, approaching the kitchen island.

“Of course. And before you tell me I didn’t have to bother, you should know that this is completely selfish on my part. I’ll take any excuse to cook.”

“Whatever you say, Doctor.”

“Hannibal.”

Will looked up from his plate, lips parting in surprise. “What?”

“I had assumed we were past the formality of titles by now,” Lecter explained.

Will snorted. “I thought you were all about ‘formality’ and, you know, all things arrogant,” he teased.

“I’m beginning to understand why Crawford warned me about working with you.”

“He was probably afraid you’d be shown up.”

“Or that I would be subjected to late-night studying with someone with pen all over his face.”

Will pointed his fork at him. “That is no way to speak to a special agent.”

“Oh, yes, my apologies, ‘Special Agent Will Graham,’” Hannibal said, a joking lilt to the title. He arched a brow. “Feel better?”

Muttering an affirmative, Will stared down at his plate and desperately tried not to grin like an idiot. His full name on Hannibal’s tongue left a pleasant buzz along his skin.

For a few minutes, they ate in amicable silence. The two could manage quiet together in a way that didn’t make the air feel awkwardly heavy. Well, at least not so much on Hannibal’s side. For Will, the moments were stretching. He could only think of how he must seem during their time together, from introductions to last night. He’d been nothing short of a blundering, shy agent with a crush. A crush. The word seemed laughably small. Crushes didn’t leave a person aching when another left the room, or impossibly proud when they were complimented by the one they sought.

Will pressed his teeth together, trying to anchor himself in the moment. He’d never reacted like this to someone before. Other people were dull at best, and unbearable at least. Hannibal was…something else. Magnetic. But Will wasn’t stupid. There was no chance of the doctor returning any sort of pitiful affection. No matter what Will had thought he saw, or heard, or imagined…

“What’s this?”

Will nearly jumped off his chair. Hannibal was holding his hand. Hannibal Lecter was holding his hand. He’d taken it gently, focused on a small curving scar on Will’s palm. Will swallowed thickly. “O—oh. Um, got it early on in the job. Blocking a knife.”

Hannibal hummed in thought, studying Will’s hand as though he could see the arc of the blade and red streaks blooming. His thumb slid over Will’s scar, drawing a circle into his palm.

Will was caught, completely. “Hannibal, I—” He stopped the rush of words, in utter disbelief at himself.

Hannibal blinked, brow furrowing. “What?”

“Nothing,” Will answered too quickly. Determinedly avoiding Hannibal’s gaze, he shook his head. “It was nothing. I don’t know what I was saying.”

A pause.

“Will, you know you’re terrible at lying to me, don’t you?”

Oh shit. Will pulled his hand from Hannibal’s, suddenly afraid that mere contact would give him away. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I’m talking about the fact that you and I have worked together for weeks now, andyou can’t even look at me today,” Hannibal replied flatly.

Will felt a stab of hurt for him. “It’s not that. I—enjoy your company, I really do. I—”

“I didn’t mean that you avoid me because you dislike me.”

Oh shit. “Then what,” Will asked slowly, “do you mean?”

Hannibal shifted in his chair, as though even he was uncomfortable with the conversation. “I can’t help but notice these things, Will, you know that.”

Oh god no. The pity was utterly terrible. Will could feel something hardening in his chest. “And what did you notice?” he asked, with a touch of coldness.

Hannibal let out a small breath and Will closed his eyes against the rejection he was sure to see. “Your demeanor changes when you’re around me and other people. You’re closed off to them. You won’t look at me in moments, but I know your eyes dilate when you do.” Turning his hand over on the countertop, he mirrored Will’s earlier position, when he’d looked at his scar. “Your pulse.”

He took my pulse. The realization hurt. To be sure that I really was acting like a teenage disaster and then throw it in my face like this.

Something must have shown in his expression because Hannibal spoke again, unbearably gentle. “I didn’t mean to cause you any discomfort.”

“Yeah,” Will said curtly. “I’m sure you thought it would be kind of you to analyze me like a social experiment.”

“I observe because I have no choice,” Hannibal told him, a hard note entering his voice. “I thought you of all people understood that.”

“And I thought you of all people would have the decency to keep your ‘observations’ to yourself.”

“You’re only angry because I’m pointing out something you’re ashamed of.”

“Yeah, no shit.” Will glared at him, blue eyes stormy. “You know, most people don’t talk about those things. They don’t bring it up over breakfast.”

“Most people are too afraid to try,” Hannibal replied stonily.

“Because some things are personal, Hannibal, okay? They don’t have anything to do with you.”

“Your obvious feelings for me don’t have anything to do with me?”

It was said on a scoff, thrown at Will across the counter. Will opened his mouth, shock and denial silent on his tongue, then closed it again. Shoving his chair back, he stood up and snatched his coat from where he’d left it at the table. Hannibal straightened up with a hint of alarm. “Will.”

Will shot him a scorching look as he strode toward the doorway. “I’ll tell Crawford we couldn’t work together,” he snapped.

“Don’t—” God, he was starting to get up.

Unable to handle another second, Will looked away and went straight out of the kitchen for the front door. His eyes burned with unshed, embarrassed tears. Dammit, he was fucking crying over him. What had he expected?

“Will, wait.” 

Will didn't intend to, but Hannibal snagged him by the shoulder before he could make it out. Turning on him, he pushed the hand away. “For what?” he demanded, hating the way his voice sounded, strangled. “You've already made your point. I'm not going to stay and listen to more shit you found out about me, to make me feel worse.”

Hannibal’s expression was one that Will hadn't seen before, open and almost afraid. “I'm not trying to make fun of your feelings and it was never my intention to make you feel ashamed of them.”

“Then what the hell was that?” Will jabbed a hand toward where they'd been sitting in the kitchen. “Showing off? Trying to reject me by telling me how pitiful I am around you?”

“None of that.”

“Then what?” Will was having trouble moving words past the lump in his throat. He could feel the tears just on the brink of spilling over and he wanted to die. “What did you have to gain by forcing me to talk about this?”

Hannibal drifted closer, leaving plenty of room between them in case Will wanted to back away. “I was hoping for something like this,” he answered, and as this left his mouth, his fingertips touched Will’s cheek.

Will froze. Hannibal’s touch felt like electricity dancing on his skin, closer than he'd ever thought he'd be. His fingers just barely brushed into Will’s hair, thumb resting on his cheekbone. A tear escaped Will’s eye and Hannibal’s thumb caught it and swiped it away. Will leaned his cheek into Hannibal’s palm with a soft whimper.

Then he remembered who this was and he jerked back, tearing himself from Hannibal’s touch. “I don’t—I don’t understand,” he stammered.

A half-smile tugged at Hannibal’s lips. “You are a bit slower to realize than I’d thought you’d be.” Will’s annoyance must have showed on his face because Hannibal quickly sobered to seriousness again. “I’m telling you that I never wanted to reject you,” he said, looking down in a show of shyness that had Will’s heart aching. “Rather, I was trying to convey to you that I…returned your feelings, you could say.”

Will could only stare at him for a few seconds, mind reeling. It seemed impossible to him that someone like Hannibal was actually telling him he felt something for Will too. He felt something for Will too. “You mean you have feelings for me,” Will asked, the question coming out as a statement.

Shifting on his feet, Hannibal nodded.

“You like me.”

“Yes.”

“Enough to want to…be with me?” A giddy grin was beginning to spread across Will’s features and Hannibal’s gaze sparked with amusement.

“Yes.”

Will gave a teary laugh, rubbing a hand over his eyes. “You like me. You really—”

“I think we've established that.”Hannibal was suddenly in front of him, close enough that the inches between them felt electric. Will’s laughter stumbled to a halt and he straightened minutely, fighting the urge to fall into Hannibal’s arms. “Now I want to know long?” Hannibal asked softly, reaching for Will’s face as though to cup his cheek again. He paused an inch from touching and Will sucked in a wanting breath.

“How long?” he repeated dumbly.

“How long have you been in love with me?” The choice of wording was deliberate and Hannibal’s gaze held Will in place with a burning intensity.

Will could feel his hands shaking. “Since we snuck into that party on the last case, and you told me I should buy an actual suit instead of showing up in jeans.”

“When you said ‘fuck you, Dr. Lecter?’” Hannibal asked on a laugh.

Will grinned outright now. “Yeah.”

Then the silence fell with new weight to it. A drop of water escaped from Will’s hair and fell to his shoulder, sinking through the shirt to skin beneath. Will shivered. Hannibal’s gaze drank in his tiny gasp, the rise of his chest, and his eyes fell to Will’s mouth. Shy and yearning, Will bit his bottom lip.

“Will,” Hannibal near-growled, and Will broke first. Surging forward, he grabbed for Hannibal’s lapels and pressed their mouths together. 

For one glorious moment, it felt like he was burning up. Hannibal’s lips were soft beneath his own and he was leaning into the contact. Will brought his hands up to the back of Hannibal’s neck and Hannibal took him by the waist, subtly steadying him. The action made Will realize what exactly he was doing, and who he was doing it to; he hadn't even asked if Hannibal was okay with this.

Wrenching himself away, he took a step back. His breaths came heavy and he nearly groaned at the sight of Hannibal’s rumpled suit jacket, askew from Will’s hands. “I'm sorry,” Will stuttered, running a hand over his hair and flushed hotly. “I—”

“Don't be,” Hannibal cut him off and this time it was him closing the distance between them. He caged Will’s jaw in his hands and kissed him again, this time with his own fire. Will’s hands were at the small of Hannibal’s back, pulling him in, before he even realized he'd moved.

Hannibal guided him backward, never once parting from him, and backed Will up against the front door. Will felt as though his pulse was rocketing out of his chest. The hard solidness of the door at his back and Hannibal’s heat in front made him feel wonderfully trapped, held in place. Hannibal was kissing him as though he wanted to drown in him and it was intoxicating. He raked his fingers through Will's hair, mussing it and curlinghis fingers at the nape of his neck. Will felt him pull just enough to sting, and he couldn't hold back the little noise he made into Hannibal’s mouth.

The hand in his hair pulled his head back and Hannibal broke the kiss. Will almost whined at the loss, before he felt Hannibal’s lips at his jaw, hot on his skin.

“If you had any idea how often I've thought of this,” Hannibal growled, dragging kisses down Will’s neck.

Will clutched at his back, fingers wrinkling in his suit. “You've imagined me like this before?” he asked on a gasp.

“God, yes.”

Hannibal’s hands were running down his body, his chest, stomach, settling on his hips. Will could barely speak. “Did you imagine it last night?” he dared to ask, and Hannibal’s teeth briefly scraped over his throat.

“Yes,” Hannibal confessed. “When you were falling asleep at the table. In the library, so close I was practically drunk onyour cologne. Took all of my willpower not to put you up against the shelves.”

Will groaned at the image, and Hannibal’s grip tightened around his waist. “What about after?”

“This morning,” Hannibal breathed into the curve of Will’s neck. “You came in with that shower-wet hair and this fucking shirt.” It was the first time he'd sworn in front of Will, reaching up to pull irritably at the unbuttoned collar of Will’s shirt. “I almost dropped a mug, I couldn't think straight.”

His teeth met the side of Will’s throat, sinking in enough to leave a mark and make Will push off the door into his chest. “And you?” Hannibal asked, with a hint of teasing. “Do you often think of me?”

“Last night.” Hannibal glanced up at him, as though surprised, and Will bit his lip again over a smile. “I wondered if the guest bed felt like yours and I wanted your weight pressing me into the mattress.”

Hannibal made a small, desperate sound, and Will glowed with the fact that he'd pulled it from him. Hannibal’s hands slid up his back, untucking his shirt and pushing underneath. His palm was like a brand on the small of Will’s back and burned its way up his spine.

“Would you?” Will cupped the back of Hannibal’s neck and played his fingers through dark hair.

“Would I what?”

“Take me to bed.”

Hannibal's hand splayed between his shoulder blades. “I thought that was what I was doing now,” he murmured, pulling the collar of Will’s shirt down to bare part of his shoulder.

“Hannibal,” Will moaned, as Hannibal pressed kisses down the curve of his shoulder. He was dizzy, unsteady. He wanted nothing more than to give in and let Hannibal take him apart. He'd already made him completely crumble against the door.

But there was a murderer on the loose and a very agitated Jack Crawford waiting for them.

Will ran his fingers through Hannibal’s hair, guiding him up to meet his eyes. “Hey.”

“I know,” Hannibal said flatly. “The case.”

“I don't know how I'm going to focus,” Will admitted.

“I know I'm not going to be able to.” The deadpan way it was said made Will laugh, bringing a smile to Hannibal’s face. He reached up to cup Will’s cheek, stroking his thumb across his skin. Will turned into the touch and placed a small kiss to his palm. Hannibal’s breath came shakily. “You'll be the death of me, Will.”

Will grinned. “God, I hope so.”

It took longer than necessary to straighten his clothes and find the case file. It took an entire fifteen minutes for them to get out the door, and another to actually start the damn car.

When Crawford commented on how late they'd been, Hannibal apologized, but but with a hand on the small of Will’s back.Will couldn't stop smiling.

**Author's Note:**

> Also! Let me know if you’d like a part two to this; I’m feeling either a prequel of how will and Hannibal fell in love or a continuation of where they left off :)


End file.
